


Ballroom Notoriety

by 3amepiphany



Series: The Boutique AU [6]
Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: Deeper waters? Hope you brought your waterproof mascara.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the patience.
> 
> Big thank you to [Elbdot](http://elbdot.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr for graciously allowing the cameos of Elly and Skullivan. They're fantastic. You're fantastic, boo!
> 
> I'm not entirely sure what else to say here besides that, so let's get going.

With his feet hooked under the edge of the couch and Captain Tim cradled carefully in his hands above his head, her legs twitching a bit in the air, Peepers exhaled and brought her down, and then pulled himself forward in a short curl. The fuzzy little arachnomorph wiggled at the top of each peak and held still against his chest when he came forward. Down to complete the repetition, he settled, inhaled, and lifted her up again. She wiggled, spitting a bit in her entertainment. That was a good cue to finish up before it started getting dribbly and causing damage.

Hater flipped through the pages on his pad of paper and took another sip of his beer. “I just meant that it might scare him off, is all.”

After a few more curls and then a pause when Captain Tim flailed a bit and flopped onto the couch of her own volition, Peepers stretched back out on the floor, and sighed, letting his back rest so that he could flex a bit and pop a few tough joints in a bit. “I’m not planning on springing it on him. I can’t do that sort of thing anymore. I’m not around people who are so used to such emphatically strange things that it’s more or less emphatically normal for them, anymore. Like, in all honesty it’s one thing to hear that the bus in front of you just got pulled over twenty minutes after you agreed to take the last of the Plutonian nyborg in the back of your van, and an entirely different thing trying to tell the story to someone who has a license to prescribe it legally.”

“Did you try? And does he?”

“No, I’m kind of hoping it never comes up. And I think he’s able to, I’m not sure if he ever does?” His phone’s text alert went off, and he sat up to look for it.

“...So _you are_ still dressing up for Sourdough’s party, then? Because I’d rather work with something familiar than have to scramble to learn something new.”

“We’ll see.”

Hater picked it up off of the coffee table and handed it to him. “Anyways, back to what I was trying to ask, before we got sidetracked. Why would Awesome want to know if you’ve heard from McGuffin?”

“Because I haven’t. But that’s not new. I don’t talk to him regularly or anything and certainly not amicably.” Peepers could remember the last conversation he’d had with the stuffy label producer, and it wasn’t about Dom, it wasn’t about the Harbingers, it was about his ex and the biopic she’d just had released ahead of her comeback tour. The short interview Buck had given to the film-makers on good-will was a mistake. Peepers had told him it would be, and wasn’t above telling him he’d told him so when the backlash hit over their social media circles. The oversized feather-duster wanted to hold him responsible as her former manager, and Peepers had spat back with a veiled threat about other things that he himself should have given insight on for the film instead of declining, and was Buck so sure it was a bad thing that Peepers turned down the offer of an interview? He wouldn’t have done it, anyways; he was tired of only ever hurting Styx. Buck eventually dropped her, too, from what he heard. It seemed like the ship was sinking. “The guy’s a dick.”

“That’s true. It’s just weird. I don’t know.” After a quiet moment Hater flipped a page and scribbled something out. “Did… when I said that did it sound like I was telling you what to do? About your new squeeze?”

“Listen, I’m not mad. I mean, I’m annoyed, sure, yes, hella flarping annoyed. But I’m not mad. He’s not Awesome and I know you know that.” Having laid back down, phone sitting on his chest now, Peepers arched his back and sat up with a deep sigh, satisfied with the way his back and joints popped and crackled. He looked at the message that he’d gotten and wasn’t entirely elated to see that it was Awesome. The guy’s inner ears must have been vibrating.

The message read, “Remember that time I filled my lap pool with jellyfish? This was much more enjoyable,” and when the thumbnail of the photo sent along with it loaded, he made a loud, awkward sound of confusion, and then one of surprise. 

Hater looked over, his big, green eyes blinking slowly. “What?”

“Oh. Remember… remember that time Awesome filled his pool with the jellyfish at that one party he’d hosted for the Iggy Starbeam video shoot?” his manager recovered, shutting the screen of his phone off quickly so Hater wouldn’t see the absurd photo Awesome had sent of his naked backside, covered in deep red welts from the base of his fin all the way down to the backs of his knees. Clearly there’d been a conquest, though for one or two quick and horrifying moments he wondered, truly, of whom. And then he felt like throwing up a little. Hater nodded, and he shrugged. “He did it again.”

“He’s…. He sure is something else, that guy.”

“...Alright. Enough about _my_ ex.”

Hater’s jaw shook and something within him, probably his ribs, rattled as he laughed. Setting his phone down next to him and turning over to start doing a few push-ups, Peepers tried not to laugh, also. The musician tapped his pencil on the edge of his notepad, beating out an odd rhythm for a short while before saying, “It’s funny that you put it like that. You know how she’s been all, ‘We were never dating’,” which should have been the slogan of _their_ relationship - on t-shirts, mugs, tattooed on Hater’s eyelids or on Dom’s bicep, “and all that? She’s been having second thoughts.”

“Is that what she pulled you aside to tell you?” Captain Tim carefully plopped herself down from the couch to come and lay under his face as he did his set of reps, so she could tickle his face with her creepy little feet like a sharp, vicious trap waiting to go off. Every time he came down he’d stop just shy of her and blow a puff of air at her and she’d burble a little.

“While you and yours were makin’ out like awkward teenagers in the front seat? Yeah.”

“We actually weren’t,” he said, and blew at Timtim.

“Sure.”

“We were actually talking about Awesome.”

“About how you and Awesome used to make out like awkward teenagers?”

“About why we hot-tubbed because he probably filled his main pool with something dangerous.” At that, Hater nodded and was probably going to ask it anyways, so Peepers said, “We haven’t talk-talked about all of that yet. But he knows. It’ll probably all come with the conversation about the dress.”

“You sure are taking this one slow.”

He did a few more push-ups in silence before stopping because Tim was grabbing at his face a little roughly. He sat up and pulled her into his lap and gave her a scritchy rubdown until she screeched and wriggled to get away. He watched her zoom up and down the hallway a few times. To be fair, Hater had actually met him while he was wearing his press getup and just like everyone else, he was fooled, too. For six months after the fact, even. That was probably the biggest regret he had in this current relationship, in all of its facets. He likely would have continued cross-dressing forever if it meant he’d keep getting that sort of attention from the big hulking mess of calcium and collagen and electricity. He knew it wasn’t sustainable, though. Nor would it fair to either of them.

He mostly just wished it wasn’t necessary. Perhaps once they find out what the Buck situation detailed he could give it a rest, he decided. The guy was probably off at some hyper-appropriative spiritual retreat, de-stressing.

“What’s Dom doing with the store?” Hater asked, finally, fixing Peepers with a stare.

“...Flarp. I still need to talk to you about that. She’s doing some merchandising with us again,” he said, waiting patiently for a response before continuing. “I also want her to put in some appearances too because of it. Would you be interested now? I know every time Jeff and I ask you say no, but it might be an excellent opportunity once we get a single out there.” When Peepers had first started working at the store it seemed like such a grand idea, but it had never come to fruition. Hater was just as shy about the place as Wander, almost.

The prospect of Dom clearly wasn’t helping him make his decision, either, Peepers could tell.

“We can come back to that,” Peepers told him.

The week was filled with awkward Fweets from Dom and small ripples of news and rumors from the social media scene because of it, a lot of them wild and unfounded, pure speculation. The store saw a bit more day-time attention and even some late-night growth with all the new inventory (and again thanks to Dom), and the schedule went without some sort of last-second change for the first time in a couple of months to Jeff’s and Peepers’ joy. 

Friday evening came around in nearly no time, but Peepers had definitely been counting the days. They were easing into the phone thing now, even if they mostly just kept it to texting. The night before he’d gotten a pretty photo of a display of bright orange bellial peppers at the grocery store. 

He drove so that Hater could hold their bag of dinner goods steady, and it took them a short bit to find on-street parking that wasn’t a severe hike through the wet, slushy, half-melted snow. They examined the list of names by the door. There wasn’t a Zbornak listed, nor a Wander, but there was one little placard with a yellow star, just like the one on Wander’s backpack. He pressed the soft burnished button next to it and after a moment, Sylvia answered. “Speak,” she said simply.

“No,” he replied, and he could hear her laughing. There was a clicking sound and the door rattled a bit, and they entered, wiping their boots on the doormats inside and looking around the little foyer of the building; there was a row of little mailboxes along the wall, the walls themselves were nice, warm colors, and there was a pretty staircase with its wrought-iron railing that didn’t so much spiral or have pronounced, flat landings at its corners so much as it sloped gently into a sort of oval structure and had continuous steps. The text he’d gotten said third floor (with a little star - now it made sense to him, and he laughed to himself at this), and so they headed on up. Sylvia cracked the door to the apartment and waved them down as they reached the floor landing, and asked them to leave their shoes and hang their jackets, and make themselves at home. Wander was doing a little work-related business and he’d be right out to join them as soon as he was done. Hater commented that this was closer to Hole In the Wall than he thought it’d be.

“It’s still a bit of a walk but it’s not too bad,” Sylvia said, shaking his hand and offering them drinks.

Peepers declined for the moment and brought the bag with their dinner contribution into the kitchen area, asking where he could set it, and she waved to a small spot. Hater opted for a beer and Peepers asked about her day at the shop.

As she pulled a bottle out of the fridge and popped the lid off with her bare hands like it was a soda can tab, she sighed. “It was good. I made some sales on the leather, and we did get someone asking about glass items so I gave them the store card and told them to call back in a few days, that we were getting ready to restock an old supplier. They seemed really excited by that so I hope Dom follows through on this. Brad’s got next Saturday morning for me so I’m good to come out to party with you guys.”

“Good! Dom said she’d be in Tuesday night if not Wednesday with some consignment. I technically can’t make her do anything contractually until Friday.”

He looked around the living room. It was sparsely decorated - save for the wall by the dining table, covered in children's artwork - their comfy-looking couch and coffee table centered in the middle of the room, facing the fairly large television that was set atop a modular bookshelf unit that he recognized from the big flat-pack furnishing store out near where Awesome lived. It was cozy, but not cramped. He heard a sigh from one of the bedrooms, and then some frustrated typing.

Sylvia noticed him looking, and pointed to the door on the right, and so he crept up into the doorway to the muted strumming of an electric guitar that wasn’t plugged into an amp, but into what looked like the most ad-hoc computer setup he’d ever seen instead.

Wander sat at his desk in the back corner, headphones on and head bopping to a beat he found himself trying to count after a moment or two. There were instruments everywhere in his room; hanging on the walls and racked along them, and he saw the little drum that Wander had picked up from the bookstore perched atop a large 2-channel combo pro amp that caught his immediate attention. The sound he must have made had caught Wander’s attention, because the strumming wrapped up and there was a soft, “Oh, goodness.” He looked over his shoulder and Peepers gave him a small wave.

“Hey, don’t stop, I know we’re a little early,” he said when Wander took his headphones off.

“Oh, no, it’s fine - I didn’t realize the alarm I’d set hadn’t gone off,” Wander said, reaching for his phone and checking it. “No, I didn’t even set it. Oops. Let me set down this guitar.” Coming up out of his chair, he nestled it into the floor stand by the desk, and stretched his arms and shoulders out. “Hi,” he drawled, slinking smoothly into a full hug.

“Hi,” Peepers mumbled back, leaning into him. They stood like this for a wonderful amount of time, before Wander, soft and silky against him, made a sound and then tried to walk the two of them backwards towards the bed. Tried, as Peepers wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing at first, and was even more confused when he found himself squashed up against the edge of the mattress and tumbling and fumbling a bit. They haphazardly detangled themselves, Wander laughing with those quiet little hiccups of his. “Woah, woah.” He looked at him and suddenly felt very aware that they were being so physical and embarrassed by it a bit.

Wander apologized quickly, “I’m sorry, sorry. But I just remembered. I have a goodie for you.” Then he sort of pushed himself away from the bed, pulling back and brushing his bright fur back down in its ruffled spots. Wander knelt down and reached under the bed. Peepers sat up and straightened his shirt out, tucking his legs away and to the side a bit to get them out of Wander’s way, and then he had a gift bag set in his lap. “Go on, open it.”

Wrapped in some crinkly tissue paper was a scarf and a beanie, as red as his own iris, made out of some very, very silky wrool-like material. Every stitch was perfectly spaced and the hat had a really great give to the band. Had he not had a relative who did yarn work himself once upon a time, he would have thought it was store-bought. 

As he looked it over, wholly impressed, Wander started up. “I hope it fits, I sent Sylvia to work with a length of yarn to measure the inside of your helmet, all sneaky-like, and she brought it home and when I wasn’t workin’ on, well, work stuff, I whipped this up. I wanted to put a little pom-pom on top or put a big ol’ yellow star on the front and then I kinda got to thinkin’ that it would fit better under your helmet without anything fancy. I know it’s not black and I know you like black, but the red is a strong color, you know? It’s bold. And you’re a pretty bold person, I feel, or you can be pretty bold. Determined. I think maybe that’s why it looks so good on you when you do wear it. Even if it’s something small and subtle like a belt-buckle or something. That and it matches your, uh, your eye. At least I did my best to match the color, I was worried I was a shade or two off. Looks close enough. It’s natural fibers, too, so it should keep you snug like a jiggybug and warm like… well…., like the honey-glow you’ve been fixin’ me pretty tough with lately,” he finished, kind of petering out on his own and sitting back on his heels, fingers fidgeting and tenting and folding together as he waited for Peepers to respond.

Peepers blinked, and fit the beanie on over his head. That give was perfect, and it _was_ snug and warm. “It’s been a good while since I’ve gotten a gift from someone who wasn’t Hater.”

“I’m definitely biased but you’re smackin’ of style, there.”

He looped the scarf around his neck. Grop, it was so soft. “This is incredibly nice, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I just-- It’s gettin’ colder out now and yarn’t as insulated as I am,” Wander chuckled, and smiled, digging his fingers into his fur a bit and scritching to make the point. “Just wanna make sure you’re good to go for the weather.” They sat there for a few more moments in silence, until Wander said, “Oh! Oh,” and got up and stepped over to the computer. “I almost forgot to save my progress. I’m sorry. When you popped in I was workin’ on some compositions for my volunteer gig.”

“Stuff you play at the bookstore?” Peepers very gently took the hat and scarf off, and folded them back up into the gift bag. He got up off of the edge of the bed and came over to the desk.

“No, no, this is a public workshop I do down at one of the local community centers, once a month. It’s music therapy for families. I bring a bunch of giant plastic straws that resonate at different notes and pitches, we study a full piece as it’s recorded, and then we get down to the fun and try to recreate it with the straws. I turn it all into readable sheet music and record a track to play along with, everyone has fun and learns a bit, and it’s quality together time for them.” They watched as the program started to slowly render the file into a saved state. He shrugged, folding his arms across the back of the chair and leaning on it and looking over at him. “Sometimes we iron out some wrinkles, too, it’s good. I have a little more freedom, not just to do the work, but to talk about it, also. Which means I can bring people along. You oughta come with me and check it out, if you got the time soon.”

Peepers nodded slowly, taking that in. He remembered what Sylvia had said about Wander when she’d first started to talk him up - that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever stop being impressed and in awe of Wander and his big heart, and how he seemed to exist to help others. Sometimes indirectly. Always without expectation.

Wander seemed to remember yet something else, and called for Hater. As the large musician made his way carefully into the room, the smaller one started to hook up one of his electric guitars to the big amp and look around on his desk for a jack splitter. Peepers found one almost instantly and handed it to him.“I recorded some stuff that I thought you’d wanna give a short listen to. There was some stuff you had that I haven’t been able to escape and I wanted to play with it some.”

Sylvia leaned against the doorway, drink in hand and smiled at them. “Peepers, what does the oven need to be at for your dish?”

“Oh,” he said, looking up. “It still needs a little assembly. Let me come help.” He brought the gift bag with him to put near the door where his shoes were, and as he passed them he waved for Hater to stay as he followed the zbornak into the kitchen.

“Cool toys, right?”

“So we’ll be over next week to record the new album in his room,” Peepers said jokingly, picking up the bag he’d brought with them and laughing as Sylvia scooted a chair over from the dining table for him to stand on while working at the counter, and got the oven preheating. 

“I wanted to ask about that - do you know when you’re going to start up again? Jeff wants to start Cube straight on overnights after he’s finished his two weeks at the restaurant and we don’t want Ryder to be the one training him. I’d do it but I literally just do my best to hold the fort down and stay awake. You have better habits than all of us, honestly, and Jeff said he’d want him to pick those up, too before we toss him into the fire pit that’s the daytime customers. We want him to spend time with you on the actual shift before you leave us.” She pulled a pitcher of tea out of the fridge and motioned to it, making sure to say it was sweet tea - not sweet _ened_ , but _sweet_ tea. Wander had made it. 

He agreed to a glass. “Leave? It’s just recording. And then tour. I’ll be around, and then I’ll be back.”

“I’m hearing differently.”

He nodded his head, shrugging a bit. He _had_ talked up possibly leaving the store to her roommate on their date. Oops. “I can stay ambitious while staying realistic, can’t I?” 

“That’s fair,” she said. “I’m sure that no matter when or in what state you come back to the store, Jeff will still rehire you even if he has a full staff twice over.”

“Eh. Frankly I’m not entirely sure what my schedule is going to be looking like now that I have Dom signing aboard, but I would have a better idea after the press party for the label. Short-term, at least.”

“After?” she asked, confused.

He nodded, removing the small containers from the bag so he could get at the big casserole dish he’d put on the bottom. “You do the junket, be as vague and avoidant as you can when answering questions, and then essentially let the press start setting dates for you to slam dunk on.”

Sylvia shrugged. “Very interesting.” She nabbed some ice out of the freezer and started to fill up their glasses.

“It keeps them hyped up and the expectations positive when you keep them on their toes and spring surprises, but still let them have their little victories. I’m already excited to see what they make of Dom joining our label as news anyways. Awesome seems to think that the rumors of the tour we want to do will hit right out of the gate. And that’s what we want. That’s what _I_ want. Hater’s not really dragging his feet, per se, at the moment, but it would be good to have that positive excitement driving him, too, again. He needs it. I know he’s getting tired of listening to me and dealing with me trying to keep him relevant but out of trouble.”

“Everyone’s in need of a little something new, lately, it seems.” She handed him his glass after asking if he’d wanted some bourbon or something in it, and he’d declined. It was really delicious tea. Incredibly sweet. She carefully added some gin to hers. “More daylight to burn, soon, though, how about that? Bit more time with Wander.”

“There is that!” he said with a small laugh. “It’s difficult saying it but I’m glad I bent. I know I’m a curnt and a half sometimes and I’m not the best of company. I hope it’s not rude or weird to say that I wonder why you thought he and I would hit it off.”

“Truthfully it could have been anyone, I just knew it was only going to be a matter of time before _you_ were going to ask me out,” she said, straight-faced. When he stopped stirring the dish he was finishing up, though, and gave her a sort of shocked look, she grinned and laughed. “I’m kidding. Peepers, I’m kidding. ...Good Grop, you were, weren’t you? Oh, oh I’m sorry.”

He laughed uneasily. “Well, no, if I was making things weirdly uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

He recalled wanting to climb into a dark recess in the depths of the planet after he’d finally, _finally_ decided he was going to ask her out, only to find out she wasn’t interested in him, or in anyone, or actually in dating at all, and seeing her say that to Awesome, who’d had the bright notion to bug her about a date. Watching him be denied so bluntly was like watching a car hitting a brick wall at high speed, but far worse was her gesturing to him, Peepers, and saying “not even him, and he’s got a downright winning personality.” After the producer had left she’d apologized to Peepers for using him as an example of sorts, but that was the end of the conversation. So he figuratively sought those dark recesses for a couple of weeks afterwards, until her shift intersected with his again and she got so frustrated with his troubled, sullen spirit that she broached the idea of him meeting up with her roommate. Even if it just served to lift his mood and make him a new friend outside of the realm of adult novelties and scuzzy green rooms. She was very adamant about that. And kept pushing it until he finally caved. Thankfully. 

“Please, you didn’t know. _I_ didn’t know. Very literally. I just saw you in a rut. I didn’t realize it had anything to do with that. That was like… literally the one thing you and I never talked about. Well. In-depth,” she said, putting a hand up as he made to apologize again. “Are you sure you don’t want something in that drink, there, Peeps?” He watched her take up the bottle of gin again and top off her glass with more of it before wiggling it his direction.

“I’m good. And I’m good now. It’s… good. I’m having fun. He’s fun - always a smile. You know, last week we said we’d be careful about texting one another too much and at the wrong times, but I think we just threw that right out the window. This week he started texting me around the time I’m getting up for work. It’s usually a picture he took at some point during his day. It’s nice. It’s a little harder for me to find something to take a picture of to reciprocate, since I just come and go straight to and from the store. But it’s forcing me to think and be creative,” he said with a small laugh.

She laughed, too, and finally answered his question with a wave of her hand as if to gather the conversation back down again, to rein it in. “Gosh, Peepers, I’m sorry. You two. You both know yourselves so well that awkward posturing wasn’t something that would show up and break things before they got serious. And the rut you were in… buddy, Haters’ funk doesn’t even compare, don’t deny that. Even if I didn’t fully understand what was behind it, I saw it. We all saw it.” The oven’s pre-heat timer went off. “Even Jeff. But also, Hater has an outlet. You don’t.”

“Hey, now, painting gaming figurines is an excellent outlet… even if I won’t get to play with them for a while. But. Now that you mention him, Jeff has been acting a bit different with me. What is with that, do you know? Is it Wander? He gave me that face that day I got invited to the bookstore. You know that face. The ‘I’m concerned but I’m not actually going to bring it up unless I feel I have to intervene’ face, and I don’t know if he just felt I was too apathetic to be hanging out with Wander? That might just be me projecting, but.”

She hesitated in putting her oven mitts on for just a second or two, and then said, “Well. I think your fog is lifting, so I wouldn’t be too hard on myself about that if I were you. Wander and I can only assuage you so much about how much fun he had. How much fun he _is_ having. As for Jeff... I can give you a good idea about what he was making faces over, but I know I’d be stepping on some toes even by just talking about my involvement with it all. So I won’t.”

That comment was a good indicator that it was heavy, whatever it was, and could cause trouble if he went about it wrongly. He hated those conversations. “Lame.” He handed her the dish, and hopped down from the chair to open the oven door for her and help her put it in. 

“Yeah. It’s lame. I’m almost certain you’ll get around to it eventually, though, and you’ll know it when you do.”

“...Was Wander in a rut, too?”

“Sort of,” she said, with that tone that meant she wasn’t going further with it.

“Alright,” he said, content with that. Just a nice little heads’ up. “So that’s good for another twenty to thirty minutes. Is there anything I can help you with on your side of the table, or?” He watched as she pulled a dish out of the fridge and popped it in next to his.

“Nope! Let’s go see if we can figure out what board game we’re gonna play.” He still really loved her congeniality and the way she would let people know they were skirting lines or changing her opinions of them. And the way she let small things fly like water off her back, or would be very kind about correcting missteps. It was no wonder she and Wander were such good, solid friends, and that she thought highly enough of him to try and play matchmaker with Wander said a lot about how she chose to read people.

What an interesting thing, though, that she was so close, relatively, but yet so far away from the reasoning behind getting them together. A little laughable, too, he felt. He saw no reason to be and no point in being upset overall but was sort of annoyed with himself for his own behavior.

He followed her to their linen closet in the hallway, and was mildly surprised to see such a huge collection of board games. “We get these at the bookstore. Your choice.” Sylvia told him, smiling. They were organized by type, and as he stood there looking through them all, she took a moment to check in on Wander and Hater. He came up next to her in the doorway with a chosen game in hand; Wander was listening contentedly and messing around with a mixer and a couple of pedals now, sort of lost in whatever Hater was playing. Peepers could hear them strumming and counting beats, and almost wanted to ask them to unplug the headsets so he could hear what they were up to, but he wasn’t sure if it was something that was going to upset their neighbors. It wouldn’t be too much longer before he and Hater would be in the studio full time to record more than demos, anyways, and he really hoped Wander would have the opportunity to join them.

A while later, they convened upon the living room with a trivia game and hot dinner and cool drinks, and Wander put Peepers in charge of making a playlist for them to enjoy for the evening in lieu of watching a movie. He carefully regarded his own pile of playlists on his phone, then made a safe bet and settled on some bass-heavy funk. Feel-good party tunes that weren’t too rowdy.

Midway through the game, they took a break to refill glasses and put their dishes in the sink, and get the dessert ready to serve - bread pudding.

“How’s work goin’ on your recordings?” Wander asked Hater.

“Good. I feel like everything we lay down is missing something though and I don’t know what it is. Could just be me. Could just be an old cable or something. Weird mix levels. Dunno.” Peepers sat back down quietly, handing Hater another beer and sipping at his own drink. He knew when to let him talk about his music and when to do the speaking for him, and in all actuality that had been a tough distinction to learn to identify. They’d been friends for likely longer than Sylvia and Wander had, and while he regretted not simply getting into the business on his own with Hater until after BDO, he sure was glad he never tied him to that mess alongside him. “Awesome keeps insisting it sounds incredible though.”

“In all honesty Awesome has a really good ear for music, just really terrible preferences when it comes to personal tastes.”

“EDM is becoming its own language, along the same lines as Morse code, or sonar,” Sylvia said. “I hear the dolphins have been adopting it like slang.”

“Porpoises were usin’ it first,” Wander pointed out. She nodded, agreeing and correcting her statement. “Dom really had what you liked - I don’t know what the metal scene is like, if it’s anythin’ like folk or what, but do y’all get with one another while you’re composin’ to exchange opinions or no?”

“I used to, not with her, yet, but with others. But anymore they’re all like, ‘it’s different,’ and they don’t really have any more to say about it. I’m not trying to be progressive. They’re the ones who are changing, I think, and they don’t realize it. You know there’s a new group out there, they all dress like this one character from a Terran cartoon. Same outfit All of their songs are based off of episodes he’s in and stuff. _That’s_ different. They go so hard, but they’re different.”

“Is Dom’s work different like that?”

“...No. I’m old-school. Thrashing and bashing appealed to her one day and so she jumped aboard and got so good at the game so quickly that some reviewers are calling her a ‘harkening to the darkest of the best times’ instead of a modern outpost of what we do.”

“I sense some pride in that but also some frustration.”

Peepers tried to recall that review and if Dom had refuted it or not. She probably did. Publicly on Fwitter or something, likely. Hater seemed to be okay with leaving the conversation at that, thankfully catching himself before he riled himself up over it, so Peepers decided to helm the next bit. He gave Wander a bit of a wry expression.“They’ve been chatting a bit more over the phone, too, lately, so there’s a good chance they’ll get to have a lot of creative discourse moving forward. Next weekend’s going to be a big one for our label, now that she’s joining it. I caved, I’m taking her on as a client,” Peepers announced, straightening the little game pieces he had in front of him.

“Lots of pressure, I imagine,” Sylvia commented.

“Lots. But a lot of it was her, getting things rolling and putting that pressure on everyone else. Good opportunities though. So. You know.”

Hater gave him a pointed look. “Silmä?” Both Wander and Sylvia turned their attention to him, unsure of what it was he’d said.

Peepers gave a deep sigh. They looked at him. “...Fine. Silmä. My management firm’s public relations rep.”

That conversation had been sitting on his shoulders for a few days afterwards, and on Tuesday night (his Sunday, technically), he stared at his phone and the last message he’d sent Wander - a shot of some plaid fabric, despite it being several colors - as he tried to figure out a favorite color to pick tonight and debated taking a nice shot of the wig.

It was a bob-cut, blonde piece that had ruler-straight fringe and soft-trimmed edges that he’d curl gently to hug his own round head, and it’d saved his hide more times than he’d like to admit.

Around the time he had parted from BDO Records, the hot water he was in because of it all was starting to boil, and while it was easy enough to put people on hold or to take messages and answer them at his leisure or never, it was difficult to get out to soirees and other parties without being bothered. So he began going as a representative of himself, donning a dress and the wig and getting in, schmoozing and handing out cards for networking without too much harassment. At least until he’d met Awesome, who charmed him pretty quickly, and who kept charming him even after the wig came off during a drunken fumble in the bathroom at an afterparty.

“Silmä,” the producer had said quietly, trying not to make a big deal out of straightening it and untangling the fibers from where they’d caught on his watch.

Peepers had stared at him carefully, blinking slowly and wondering if he was about to get his ass kicked. “...It’s Tom, actually.”

Awesome smiled after a few moments, and chuckled. “Thomas Peepers. Wow. Right?”

“Tomás,” he corrected him.

“Such exotic names you have.”

“Eughnnn,” he groaned, and twisted around from where he sat on the sink counter to look at himself in the mirror and fix the wig. His little pleated and plaid skirt bunched up as he moved, and he tried to tug that down a bit, hoping that his boots weren’t scuffing when they squeaked against the marble.

Behind him, Awesome smirked, his teeth sharp and as white as the pristine drawstrings of his stupidly simple and plain purple hoodie that he probably very ironically had dry-cleaned. The gaudy chain around his neck glinted in the lights, the dumb little photo of himself hanging from it smiling that same smile. “I’d ask if you have any ‘stim on you, but I feel like that’s kind of off-limits right now.” He was still speaking gently, and shrugged when Peepers had exaggeratedly rolled his eye at that. “A lot of us have been wondering why you’ve been hiding behind your office phone since you dropped your BDO clients. But wow, gutsy. Silmä’s really great. Fooled me.”

Peepers said nothing and sat there playing with the edges of the wig, smoothing them down against the curve of his head. Outside the DJ was playing some crappy over-distorted remix of a really good song, the incessant thumping shaking right through him as if he were actually in the damn subwoofer.

Behind him, Awesome started to hum along, and singing low about how “some folks say easy come is easy go, and one night ain’t enough for” him, and running a couple of fingers down Peepers’ back.

Somehow that still wasn’t the worst time he’d had wearing the outfit, or the worst decision he’d made while in it.

He looked at himself in the sticker-covered mirror of his dresser, adjusting the wig and the hair-band that held it down for lack of ways to anchor it with bobby pins, studying the style and wondering if he should break out the curling iron now to touch it up. Deciding against that for the moment, he examined the wig for issues and then took it off, putting it on its stand and setting it out on his dresser drawer so he could style it later, checking the headband as well to make sure that the satin wasn’t pilling or fraying. His phone went off - Awesome. 

“Hello,” he answered. He grabbed his beer and settled in bed, taking a second to tug one of his socks back up and the leg of his pajama pants down before settling against the pillows with the phone nestled comfortably against his shoulder.

“My guy,” Awesome said bluntly, “Are you going with the usual game plan for the shindig?”

“Going for broke,” Peepers replied, knowing the reference would never be caught. 

“Hot. And uh, your wonder-boy’s joining you?”

“Yes, he will. And Sylvia. Zbornak. His roommate, you know her.”

“Oh, Sylvia,” the producer said with a soft sneer, coming to some realization that he hadn’t before. “Okay. Now I see the connection. So _they’re_ roommates. That makes more sense. Listen, anyways, the reason I’m calling and asking is because we’re going to have a hot topic on hand at the party. Buck.”

“Did he finally show up from his great disappearance to bum-fart wherever?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay?”

“It’s kind of fucked, man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Buck McGuffin’s a bucket.”

“Come again?”

“Buck McGuffin’s a bucket, dude.”

“One more ti--”

“I’m not saying it again you prick.”

“Okay, alright, I’m just really confused, what do you mean by that? What do you mean he’s a bucket? He’s a bucket of scrud, I know this.”

“Tomás,” Awesome said very clearly, and accented firmly. “He’s Sunday dinner.”

“...So, I think you’re looking for the expression, ‘he’s _kicked_ the bucket.’”

“No, no, he’s still with us. At least in that sense. He shitted off to Zedona to commune with sentient vortices because he was stressing out like most big suits do and he came back fried, man. Absolutely fried. Breaded with twelve secret spices and fried. He’s gonna wind up getting released from hospital care straight into a rehab program.”

“Huhm,” Peepers said, sort of rolling this news around in his mind, not entirely sure what to make of it, professionally. Personally it was a bit of a bummer. He gave a small thought to reaching out to Styx about it, but Awesome started talking about Dom in a very private manner so he went ahead and gave him the excuse that he needed to cut the conversation short as it sounded like Hater had just set something on fire in the kitchen. Awesome simply gave him an “Oh, shit, good luck with that,” and they ended their call. Peepers lay there, half-disgusted in himself and half-disgusted in Dom and wholly disgusted by Awesome, and worried that this would all blow up quicker and faster than he’d originally thought it would.

What indeed was Dom’s endgame in this?

Again, his phone went off, but it was a message from Wander. It read, “I know I only just saw you a couple nights ago but I wanted to let you know that I miss you, and I hope your hat and scarf have been keeping you warm.”

“Very warm. You’re up late,” he replied. “Can’t sleep?”

“Sometimes I just get to thinking instead of sleeping.”

“I can believe it. Do you need to talk about anything?” He sipped at his beer, and listened as his turntable spun down the record and automatically shut the motor off. He wanted to venture a “Maybe about Friday?” but he decided to wait, mostly because his brain started this terrible barrage of Wander being too nice to say what he wanted to say, and this also becoming an awfully drawn-out mess like just about everything else in his life, or worse, that this was it, the end, so quick. Waiting sucked. Maybe Wander had finally fallen asleep without realizing he was mid-text or something.

Just as he had figured out what album he wanted to listen to next, Wander responded. “Not this moment. I’ll get the words together at some point.”

“Okay. I’m here.”

“You’re still missed.”

He sent a little smiley face (with a nose, he’s the person that gives his smiley faces noses), and Wander sent one back (without the nose), an “xo,” and that seemed to be that.

Peepers got up to switch the record, and then quickly snapped a photo of its’ soda-bottle green color and sent that to Wander instead of his original pic pick of the wig. Good save, he thought. He sat back down in bed, sort of regretting sending the shot of the skirt of his dress, and re-read the short conversation quietly, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t as bad a move to make as sending a full shot of the dress itself would have been, and trying to distract himself by remembering what it was that Wander had quoted that night of the show at the bar. When your heart’s a volcano you can’t hold flowers? Or something. He decided to look that one up, and soon found himself lost in a rabbit’s hole full of poetry that he wasn’t familiar with, the music forgotten and the sound of Captain Tim scratching at the bottom of his door very politely, asking him for her breakfast as usual near the ends of his nights off.

Just as he was settling in to sleep for the day, Wander sent him a good morning text. “Good night, xo,” it said.

He slept soundly, and woke to find a pic of a cup of tea, brewing, bright pink and beautiful.

Snow was starting to fall again as Hater eased the van up out of the parking under their apartment building, and headed out to drop Peepers off at work, shiny and silvery in the streetlights and sticking enough to warrant using the windshield wipers. They made plans to visit the grocery store in the morning, before they retired to bed for the day, and as he depressed the cigarette lighter and unbuckled his seatbelt, Peepers wished him good luck in figuring out the bridge he'd been fighting to finish, and thanked him for the ride in. "Tell Jeff I say hi, and don't let him know I'm thinking about coming in to do a meet and greet or something. I don't know what you have in mind."

"I don't, either, but now that I know you're at least thinking about it, I can come up with something cool." The cigarette lighter popped out, and he took a second to light his smoke, offering Hater a drag of it.

Hater shook his head. "S'too early for that. 8:30 pickup, Peeps," he re-confirmed, and handed him his travel mug as he got out of the van, shutting the door behind him. 

Peepers watched the tail lights disappear as the van went up an extra block before turning the corner; no doubt Hater was going to stop for a meal before getting back home. Good. The guy needed as much time to focus on work when he was awake as he could get now. They hoped they could start sending out small tendrils of information about the new album at the party, and the more concrete the overall idea of what would be on it, the easier the sell. He tugged the band of his beanie down, popped the collar on his jacket and tightened his scarf a bit, slowly enjoying his cigarette and downing what he had in his mug while watching the late night traffic both on the street and the sidewalk along the block. The bookstore was getting ready to close from what he could see down the way.

The door to the shop opened, the bell jingling loudly, and Ryder came out to join him, announcing that there was a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the back as he lit his own cigarette and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a shiver and a grunt. After a few quiet moments he asked, "Can we ban Brad's costume group from the store?"

"What?"

"Can we ban Brad's stupid costuming group from the store?" he asked again, and Peepers looked up at him oddly. "His cousin Chad's the only one who isn't old enough to be coming in here and the rest of them just sort of congregate around the magazines like a bunch of monks studying holy paintings."

"They’re a Larping group of nothing but clerics. And that's kind of what clerics do."

"I know, I'm trying to relate to you how awkward it is when they do that."

"It sounds pretty awkward on it's own but I'm glad you're trying to speak our language." He shivered, and thought about it quietly for a minute, watching the way the snow changed in the neon lights in the windows of the shop. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt but how do we enforce it?"

"I don't know."

"Would Jeff even go for it?"

"I don't know."

"...Where does Chad go while they're all in here?"

"I... don't know. Home, I assume? The bookstore?"

They went back inside, and Peepers gave the store a once over as he uncovered himself, sticking his gloves and hat in the pockets of his jacket and rattling the bead curtains as he went into the back room to hang everything up and refill his travel mug. It was toasty in the shop, and for once it didn't smell too much like burning dust. Replacing the lid on his mug and coming back out to the counter, he said, "We could bring it up at the next store meeting but in all honesty if we have to ask him to stop letting his friends in, then we all have to stop letting our friends in. I know it's weird to see Galstaff the Bringer of Light perusing the DVDs in his wizard robes and hat, but is that fair to the rest of us? What about _your_ roommate? We all know you hang outside with him for a couple of smokes when he drops off dinner."

"Fredrick is too big to fit into the store. And I'm pretty sure the guy has no conceptual idea of the purpose of the stuff we sell here anyways. I'm almost convinced Brad's friends don't, either." Ryder allowed him to sit in the chair as he leaned against the back counter. "...You know, I thought about it a bit and it makes sense to me."

"What does? Are we changing the subject now?" Peepers asked, looking around the store and taking it in before taking the time to ready his Wednesday night cleaning checklist.

"Sylvia playing matchmaker for you and Wander." Ryder sipped at his coffee noisily, and Peepers made a hand gesture for him to continue. "She wants to keep him safe and she thinks you're the next best and most capable person to do that, to help her out with that."

He looked over his shoulder at his coworker, staring hard at the bright light on his visor. "Wander seems like a very capable person all on his own. A little too nice for his own good, maybe."

"A little? We're talking about the same Wander here, right? The dude is a walking rainbow. Don't tell me his optimism is getting to you, too. Us curmudgeons have to stick together." There wasn't an answer to that. "Syl was usually the first person with her fists raised to stand between a friend and an unfair walloping. Her defense was some of the best I've ever seen both professionally and personally, and honestly when they came here I had for sure thought that he'd hired her on as a bodyguard against half of Remulak or something. The beating she had to have taken for him, holy vrell. Of course, I thought she was losing her touch - he was pretty thrashed up, himself.” He came forward to lean on the front counter and shook his head.

"W-wait, come again?"

"Yeah, it was a live-in situation or something with this ex of his. It went really, _really_ bad. I thought you knew?"

"No."

"Well--"

"No, I don't know, I don't think that's something I wanna hear about if neither of them have brought it up on their own for as long as I’ve known them." He wasn't angry, nor was he annoyed, but he certainly wondered now if this was exactly what Sylvia had been hinting at in the kitchen on Friday. "Listen, I... Ryder, listen. For the next two hours, can we… for the next two hours or so just not? Talk? About my personal life?” Ryder shrugged and nodded. “How _is_ Fredrick, by the way? How’s he been?”

“Good, good. He was pretty excited to learn about you and Wander getting together.”

“Dude.”

As he cleaned, the conversation eventually rerouted itself to music and movies, and he was pretty surprised that they managed to do that for as long as they did.

Ryder bundled up and was ready to bounce when the door opened and the bell jingled, and Dom entered. She had a big duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and Ryder asked her if she’d “just come from the gym or something, working out is really working out” for her, and she turned to him and said simply, “Yeah, it is. Wanna put your head between my thighs and see what happens?”

He stood there in his ridiculous puffy jacket, visor light pulsing calmly. He nodded respectfully and said, “Okay, that’s fair. I deserved that. I’ll catch you later, Peeps.”

“Sure,” Peepers said, shaking his head and setting aside the pulp book he’d been trying to read through at least once for what seemed like forever at this point.

“Gee, Peepers, how come Awesome let you have two dicks?”

“I’m not interested in having this conversation with you, Dom,” he said tiredly, pulling out the vendor binder and flipping to the little sheet protector he’d readied for when she started fulfilling orders for them again. “What’d you bring us?”

“Aww,” she said, “Of all the people I was really excited to dish with, after all this time, and you’re playing silent.”

“Despite all these plans I’m just really tired of putting myself in the middle of everyone to keep the peace, honestly.”

“Mmm, come keep the peace with me and Awesome. That’d be some fun. We all know how good you are at keeping mum but he tells me you can get pretty loud.”

“What,” he laced his fingers together and stared her down, repeating very sternly, “did you bring us today?”

She waited a moment or two before leaning down to set down and open the duffle bag. The first piece that emerged from it and the giant roll of bubble wrap it was in was a royal purple in hue, full of big flakes of sparkling cellophane glitter, and - to him - almost instantly recognizable. Dom set it down on the counter carefully and he regarded it quietly. “Sometimes I wish I’d gone into silicone, it’s much easier to cast once and be done with. I lost a lot of the detail here with this.”

He resisted the urge to pick it up and make a comparison to his memory of the real thing. To begin with, it was only half of what the producer was naturally endowed with. And it felt like it had seams that were polished down along the sides. “This isn’t hand-blown.”

Dom’s cheeks puffed out a bit as she snorted loudly and laughed. He waited until she was done to gesture at the glass dildo. “It’s a prototype. I’ve been kicking around the idea of mold-casting the larger pieces, but I don’t know that I’m ready to invest in the wax and a new, special kiln and all that.”

“How did you manage this one? And I don’t need to know about making the mold, please just skip that.”

“I brought the mold into a co-op workshop. They let me use their equipment to make this… equipment. You can expect a few of the staff into the shop soon to check you guys out, if they haven’t been here already.Thought maybe you could drop them a fifteen-percent discount on the first run of glass when it goes up if they mention they’re with the co-op.”

“It’s your consignment terms, Dom.”

“This is true. I also wanted to ask if you had any business cards for the store that I could hand out,” she said, reaching into the bag again and pulling out another paper and bubble-wrapped piece in one had, a small box in the other, “in exchange for some of mine.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could find a stack or two of them somewhere under here. Got a few more pieces?” There were - she unwrapped them quickly and set them all along the counter next to the purple one, and then dug a small handful of soft, minky storage bags out to go with them and a pricing sheet. None of them were as large as the cast, but a few of them did nearly rival it in girth, still, and not a single one of them were the same. A row of nubs here, a thick swirl down the length there, voluptuous bulbs making up the whole of one and a graceful but generous curve was the shape of another. The last one she pulled out looked like a citrus reamer with a little handle of sorts on the base. Peepers rolled his eye and looked around the shop for a moment, pretending to figure out where the best spot to display these would be. He knew exactly where they’d go, and it would be a hellishly attractive setup; he just didn’t want it to seem like he was gawking openly at them.

Dom pet the bags as if they were alive. “Did you hear about McGuffin? I’m thinking about sending a card to him once we find out where he’s placed.”

“Yeah, about that - come Friday we don’t have any official statements planned, just some nice, encouraging words about how we hope he’s doing alright and how we can’t wait for him to be back at the top of his game. This opportunity you’re taking presented itself way before any of that news broke and you wish him the best in recovery.” She gave him a solemn nod, and he was sort of surprised to feel surprised about that. As he dug around under the counter for the box of extra business cards for the store, he ventured, “Silmä’s going on my behalf this weekend. You’ve met Silmä once or twice, right?”

Her grin at this seemed a little unnatural. “No. I’ve _heard_ of her, but I don’t believe we’ve ever _met_. Is this the same Silmä that Awesome was seeing?” The name rolled off of Dom’s tongue gently, almost sensually. And correctly. He nodded, watching that grin on her face widen. So unnatural. “Wasn’t he seeing you at the same time-ish? Was he... double dipping?” She almost couldn’t say that clearly.  
Flarping Awesome. He wondered just how much about Silmä he’d shared with Dom; granted, a lot of people knew that the producer wasn’t selfish when it came to his affections, nor worried about timing. The prospect of sudden growth of the special little circle around her was unsettling enough but that comment definitely made him worry if others had their suspicions about the situation, too. “Right, well. You’ll finally meet her. It’ll be a first for a few people.”

“Why aren’t you going?” she asked in a teasing manner, but she followed it up with a serious inquiry. “Don’t you think you finally need to show yourself for all the credit your hard work is gonna get out of this?” 

“In time.”

“For someone with such a control streak you sure have a fair bit of modesty.” She picked up the bag she’d made to go with the first piece, bright neon pink, and folded it up, sliding it across the counter towards him, and started gathering the bubble wrap she’d brought in, stuffing it into the duffel and shouldering the bag.

“I won’t argue that, thank you, but this is more a matter of self-preservation, really.”

“I suppose you do have the need to dial down and low-key it, don’t you? Well. I look forward to meeting your representative, I’m sure she’s got an absolutely winning personality. I’ve gotta jet. Got some compositions to work on if I want to have something tangible to share with you and Sourdough this weekend.”

“Uh, wait,” he leaned forward, stopping her with a hand out. “This purple one isn’t on your price list.”

Dom stopped, the box of store cards tucked under one arm. She shrugged and said with a heavy faux innocence, “A promotional item. Thanks for your support. I’ll see you on Friday, dear Commander.” A casual salute, a wink, and she made her way on out, the bell jingling behind her.

Peepers sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Awesome and secretly taking some deep satisfaction in knowing that he’d woken the guy up out of a rare solid night’s sleep when he’d answered, groggy and quiet. “I’m looking at something I thought I could easily go the rest of my life without seeing intentionally. I’ll likely have to leave this here at the store, in the backroom, and assault all of my coworkers with the sight of it, because I can’t just take it home. Hater won’t want to know that he’s occupying the same space as it, and I definitely don’t want to carve out a place for it on my bookshelf due to sensibilities regarding Wander. I want to ask, but I don’t need any more information beyond it - how long did she have you sit to make the mold, did you have to take something for it, and did it hurt?”

On the other side of the line, there wasn’t so much an immediate response as there was just the sound of Awesome rubbing at his face and sighing, trying to wake up enough to have this conversation. And then he said, “I didn’t have to sit too long; no, I didn’t take anything; and it was a little painful getting out of the mold but I think the real pain came in casting it three more times after that because I kept… losing inches.”

“Damn,” he hissed. “Grop. Honestly.”

“Wait, so she came by the shop with it? What do you mean you can’t take it home?”

“Dom came by with it, yeah. She dropped off some other things but this one isn’t for sale, I’ve been gifted this monstrosity. Promo. And I can’t take it home. I’m not taking it home.”

“Bruh. That’s _my_ monstrosity. I told her if she didn’t want to sell it that I’d pay her for the materials so I could gift it to you.”

“Well, thank you for thinking of me, even if it was a joke.”

“You have been so harsh lately. No joke. I ought to just ask for it back but seeing as how you’re bent over it you’re totally keeping it.”

“That makes several of us, bent, here,” Peepers said, running his finger down the length of the toy and the feature he was speaking about. On the other end of the line he heard Awesome sigh heavily.

“Ha, ha. Was that all you called me for?”

“I mentioned to Dom that Silmä may go to the party in my stead and all she could do was crack even more jokes than she already had been. I figured you had already talked to her about that before I could. So yeah, I’d say I’m good.”

There was a pause. “Jokes? Her? About…?”

“...Just in general. Be careful about this one, Awesome, please. As both her and Hater’s manager I implore you. As a friend, I’m on my knees, begging.”

“Grop, you know I miss that,” Awesome said in a teasing, gravely voice.

“Uh-huh. Goodnight,” he said, and the producer laughed and grumbled his goodbye before hanging up. Peepers rolled his eye and carefully covered the toy up in its bag and took it to the back. This party was going to be a hot mess and he was kind of glad he wasn’t going to be there for it. By name in person, at least.

Friday found him steadying his precarious footing on the wet and slushy sidewalk, half praying that things would go off without issue, and half praying that he would just slip and fall and die here and that would be the end of it. But his grip on the door handle was vice-like and the heels of his go-go boots were well-worn and too trusty for his own good.

Hater pointedly reached over to crank down the passenger-side window on the van and cleared his throat loudly as Peepers carefully made his way up the steps to ring the buzzer. He hesitated at the top of the stoop. "C'mon," Hater hollered at him teasingly. Looking back at the van, he threw his hands up and kind of clenched his fists just a bit in frustration. Then he reached over and hit the buzzer button hard enough to make his finger hurt.

He patted at the soft, fluffy collar of his jacket, stuck a couple of fingers between his neck and the leather collar he’d picked up at the store to adjust it against his skin a bit, and tried to see if he could check his reflection in the glass of the front door. It wasn't great, but he figured he looked alright enough. Behind him, Hater whistled.

"Speak," said Sylvia over the intercom, finally.

"No," he replied, dancing a bit from foot to foot. 

"Down in a sec," was the answer to that.

He couldn't wait to get back in the van, though he was also letting his anxiety and nervousness get the better of him. He wondered if the fleece-lined leggings he wore were going to be a bad decision once they would be inside and partying, but he figured he could deal with it if it meant staying warm enough going outside for cigarette breaks. He came down to the sidewalk, between the curb and the stoop, and he was about to ask Hater if he could roll that window back up to keep the interior of the van warm when the front door to the apartment building opened.

Under her heavy, comfy-looking jacket, Sylvia had on her designated 'party' outfit - a bandette, some leggings so shiny that he couldn't tell if they were pleather or lamé, heeled boots, and the leather bridle she'd chosen from the new inventory, well-oiled and shined up, the reins hanging down her back almost like some sort of blatant gesture. She looked ready to kill someone. With her bare hands. It was disturbingly hot. He squinted. Was she wearing lipstick? 

Wander came out behind her, and indeed had his own leather jacket, but with that ever-present backpack of his, Peepers was really expecting him to look like something out of the Ridell Supercluster's style catalog. The whole getup actually just smacked of it, enticingly, actually, getting a better look at it. The plain t-shirt tucked into his jeans, the jeans tucked into his boots. The zipper and what studs there were shined, and he thought instantly of the pile of yet-unused patches he had at home that he’d be willing to sew onto that jacket if Wander would let him, and what gauge studs he had sitting around to add to it all, too. As it was, though, it was outstandingly great and very becoming on the fuzzy therapist. And it was easy to see that Wander felt the same way about it, too, even as he pulled down the giant aviator-style sunglasses he was wearing, saying something about not being able to see because it was too dark with them on. Peepers had this wonderful feeling that Sourdough was going to be very pleased with this motley crew of fashionistas in attendance. Even if Hater’s jeans were shredded.

He was looking at the both of them so blatantly that he didn't immediately realize that they were returning the favor with their own stares. And then they both gave him grins that made him afraid for just a moment before Wander said, “Well.”

“...Yeah.”

“It isn’t that I doubted you or thought you were jokin’. I’m… You look stunnin’. I’m literally stunned. Is that the… is that what you sent me the other night? That plaid? Wowee,” Wander bubbled over, coming down the stairs and holding his hand out. “Silmä. Is it _just_ Silmä or do you have a last name?”

“Van first, buddy. Shotgun,” Sylvia said, coming down and ushering them both towards the warmth and ensuring that the two of them would sit next to one another in the back. Hand-in-hand, Wander helped Peepers in first very gently, and then assisted Sylvia, and closed the doors after everyone. He greeted Hater, who gave him a wave and nothing more.

It was indeed _just_ Silmä, and after some coaching on the pronunciation it got quiet in the van, save for the blasting heater, but just for a moment. Wander looked at him earnestly, smiling and working the effort to tamp himself down before even opening his mouth. Peepers made a small gesture with his hand to let him know that it was more than okay to talk if he had something he wanted to say. Wander had mentioned at some point during their bookstore date that he thought it was great that they didn’t have much in common, but Peepers had quietly disagreed in amusement - Wander’s loquaciousness wasn’t annoying or weird now that it was framed in excitement, as it always had been, and as Peepers’ had been, too. He was afraid to admit that he’d been spending a little time wondering and worrying if he’d ever said anything to show that he’d been annoyed or weirded out by it, and was really afraid to bring it up to Sylvia in case she’d been holding onto receipts and would be more than happy to roll them all out for him and for the validation. At some point he figured he’d have to, so he wouldn’t have to watch Wander limit himself anymore.

“Red really does look good on you. And those lashes, oh, goodness. I’m floored. I mean, I’m still not entirely sold on the idea of lyin’ to a bunch of people, and I’ll lay that out right here and now, but I’m not mad, I just want you to know that. I understand what the deal is. You did a fine job explainin’ it last weekend.”

“Was that what was bothering you earlier this week?” he asked quietly. The anxiety was back, tugging at his heart from the very bottom of his gut, so he decided just to meet it head-on, and now. Get in control of it. “We can talk about it more, but I have to say that this rock is already rolling. We’ll be late if we stop back at the apartment so I can change.”

“Hm? Oh, no, no, that’s somethin’ else. Don’t worry yourself about that. _Or_ this. I’m okay with rockin’ and rollin’ if you are... You’re goin’ all blushy on me, I can see it in the streetlights.”

“I’m sorry, I’m honestly just beside myself that you’re about that and not about the dress, and all this,” he said, gesturing to himself.

Wander shook his head a bit. “Why, when you look incredible?”

“Calm down back there, you two,” Sylvia said, trying to keep things from becoming too awkward. “Can’t have you all blood-shot and him all huffing and puffing and fur on end before you even get to the party. People will think Wander’s seeing Silmä behind Peeps’ back, and then what will we do?”

“Oh, frindle-doodles, Syl,” Wander said with a small laugh. He reached over the space in between their seats and took Peepers’ hand, lacing their fingers together. Despite Peepers’ glove, it was an endearing and soothing move. “I’m with you on this one, no worries.”

In all honesty he did feel like a jerk about it. He forever had, even amidst what it offered and provided for him. What Dom had asked him earlier was something he’d constantly asked himself anyways, and always had to weigh when it came to going out and doing the fancy footwork of networking. Luckily for him, walking backwards in heels came very naturally. “I’ve come to the decision that Silmä will likely be seeking other opportunities elsewhere after tonight - she does have family she’d like to be nearer to and all.”

Hater gave him a glance over his shoulder. “Buck’s mess isn’t gonna chase her, Peepers.” Sylvia made a face at that, and Peepers just barely caught it.

It was a fair drive to the home that Sourdough had decided to sublet for his stay on the planet; “a veritable starter castle,” as Awesome had put it upon showing up to help the sandwich and his staff navigate the area. It was on the back end of a master-planned community outside of the city, past the little suburban-sprawl that the producer called home, and the property was very overwhelmingly castle-like. Apparently it had once been a set for a coming-of-age film that Wander hadn’t seen, but Sylvia had, and when Peepers mentioned this, she grew really excited to see the interior of the place free from the disaster-like indicators of a high school kegger. It was fenced and gated within a fenced and gated community, Peepers giving Sourdough’s name to the attendant at the office building, stating that the name Silmä should be under C. Peeps Management if not Cool Guy Productions. They were given a printed map of the community with directions leading to the property they needed (and a warning not to be found trespassing through the rest of the community), wished a safe night and then ushered through the little access-gate bar as it lifted. As they came closer to the home it seemed to be one of a few other opulent places they passed that were well beyond the reach of any homeowners’ associations in the neighborhood.

“Quaint,” Sylvia said as they waited to be let through the gate leading to the driveway.

“As any other tract mansion is,” Hater grumbled.

They were met by a valet as they pulled up to the little palace, and were led inside gratefully. The snowfall out here was coming down in giant, fluffy flakes and it was sticking to the still-green grass on the lawn. Coats and names checked, they had arrived well before press but not before a good portion of attendees of mention, and so they dawdled about behind Peepers’ guide and introductions, watching in amused awe as Silmä worked the room quickly with her heavily accented “Hello, dear”s and “Tja, läget?” inquiries followed up with little fluttery pecks on the cheeks of everyone with his big, flashy lashes until Awesome found and joined them, drink in hand.

“Ladies and gents,” he said with poise, bending to take Peepers’ hand and giving it a kiss. He reached for Sylvia’s hand, and she looked down at his outstretched palm blankly. His little leather fingerless glove creaked as he rescinded the greeting and gave her a tight-lipped smile and a nod instead. This, she returned. And then she saw the food table and excused herself.

Wander leaned in close to whisper to him that he’d better go and keep an eye on her lest she clear the joint out before the party even got officially started, but that they probably wouldn’t stray too far from the table now that she’d found it. Peepers nodded and told him to text him on his phone if there were any issues, or if they needed to find him. Very gently and very discreetly, they bumped their hands together and let them linger before parting.

As he watched Wander follow his roommate, he felt Awesome’s hand at the back of his neck, playing with the buckle on the collar and the ends of his hair. “You bikers and your leather.”

“Did you see the piece Sylvia had on?” He looked up at the shark demurely, and received no answer. “Anyways, enjoy it while you can. Silmä’s got an aging father she desperately wants to go home to, soon. She’s taking her leave of the company and she’s going to let some people know tonight.”

“What?”

“I’m done trotting her out for these things. People are going to have to deal with _me_ again and they’re going to learn to love it. _I’m_ going to learn to love it.”

“...You and I are going to have a very important talk in private, later. Oh, my Grop. Hey. I didn’t know you knew Gitte Mielson,” Awesome mumbled quietly, nudging him a bit and then nodding in the direction of Dom, seemingly shearing her way over to them through the room using her hair. It stood on end in a gloriously flat-fanned white and shiny mohawk. Her dress and short ankle boots were delightfully grungy and not geared towards being a put-together-outfit at all but still deliciously drop-dead gorgeous on her. As she approached them she removed her visor-like sunglasses and tucked them in her fringed purse, revealing her trademark smudged and “dripping” eyeliner, black and morose and matching her matte lipstick. Her big holographic earrings shimmered. She looked like the living personification of a Keeper-Trapper.

“What’s up, nerds?” 

Peepers looked up expectantly at Awesome, waiting for an introduction instead of a reveal, and wasn’t surprised at all to see the guy staring at her with a bit of a moopy look on his face. “Augustus, love, I didn’t know you knew Gitte Mielson,” he parroted loudly in his fake accent, putting a hand forward for a shake.

Awesome blinked stupidly and then gave him a pointed glance. “Uh, as much as I would love to say yes, I have the better honor of knowing Domana. No last name. Just like you. Dom, this is _Silmä_ ,” he said curtly, annoyed. “She’s been with the label for quite some time as Tomás’ representative on the management side. We’re very lucky to have her, although she was just telling me that it may not be for much longer.”

Dom took his hand and gave him a polite but firm shake, and said, “Well damn. I’m really glad I’ve gotten the chance to meet you. I’ve just been dealing with C-Peeps directly and when I found out he had a dang staffer I could talk to instead I felt rude.”

He squinted up at her, and said sarcastically and quietly without the accent, “Did you? Really?”

She gave him an absolutely wicked grin. And then she turned back to Awesome. “Augustus? Augustus. Tomás--”

“Silmä,” Peepers corrected her quickly, and then said under his breath, “Please.”

“And Harri, where is he?”

“He’s in the bathroom, practicing some faces for photos and some answers for the questions we’re hoping to field tonight. He’ll be out in a minute, I just texted him that the smörgåsbord has the little sausages he really likes.”

Awesome downed the rest of his drink, cleared his throat, and said, “Speaking of cocktail weenies and weird foreign words for buffets--”

“Buffet is also a weird foreign word,” Peepers reminded him.

“...Silmä, the paperwork that Peepers sent with you tonight, legal was asking about it. I told her that you’d be happy to answer any questions about it as soon as Dom and her team roll up. Figured we ought to hash the last of it out now in person while the evening is still super early and before we sign the damn thing in front of everyone. I’ll track her down, hold on.” He pulled out his phone assumedly to text their label’s law guru. “Where… Dom, babe, where is your team?”

“It’s just me, Augustus. When I dropped Buck I dropped his legal eagles, too. I scrawled my own contracts up before him and while I was prepared to do that myself all over again, I liked the way your little lady talked about finances, so I figured I’d make it even easier on myself and just find better representation.”

“‘For the words of the profits were written on the studio walls,’” Peepers muttered, somewhat in awe and mostly in fear.

“‘And concert halls,’ bro,” Awesome responded. He must have been feeling the same way about that.

Peepers looked up at Dom, his sudden and surprised expression fixed on her. “You haven’t met her in person yet, either, have you? Oh, this is going to be fun.” When she didn’t answer him immediately, he started to wonder how well she was going to handle it. He took a scan of the room to find Sylvia, and saw her peeking up over the crowd at the buffet. It looked like she and Wander had stopped to talk to someone. Perfect. He knew that Awesome had invited some of the girls from the club to come and enjoy the evening, and he also knew that they knew Sylvia. A look in the opposite direction and he found Lilith, putting her phone away and excusing herself from a conversation. She started heading towards them.

“Lilith, dear charming Lil,” Peepers said carefully as she approached. He could almost physically feel Dom steeling herself for this conversation, as it was so easy to mute oneself when on the phone, but to speak with Lilith Bits in person, well, that was a test of wit, grit, and manners. “I’m sorry, dear, did we pull you away from something important?”

“Oh, no, that was one of the staff hands Mandwake sent ahead of his gwand pwesence.”

Her impediment was a gem, the lallation and rhotacism lending itself so furiously to her outward and distinct display of innocence that there was no question why she had as big a reputation as she did, and why Peepers had pressured her to jump the BDO ship too when he left. How she came to represent Awesome’s label wasn’t a secret and both he and Peepers did their best to keep her job as easy as it could be, lest she finally decide they weren’t worth the show of gratitude any longer and that she would drop them. She looked up at Dom with her big, dewy eyes, adjusting the big fluffy bow at the collar of her shirt, and continued in that morbidly adorable voice of hers, “Just collecting the disclosures we had everyone sign before he shows up to do the heavy photo work. He should be here pretty soon. You’re an eyeful tonight, Silmä.”

“Thank you,” he said, gesturing up at Dom.

“Ah, Domana. You certainly are a lot taller than I imagined you to be. Perhaps Hater needs some more posture work, yeah? Nice to finally meet you in person.”

They shook hands (Dom was very gentle as Lil’s little paw was just so absolutely and endearingly tiny) and Peepers almost let out a loud guffaw when Dom said, “Your own stature is very fitting for the voice I’ve been working with. You’re cute. Like a velvet glove cast in iron.”

Lil laughed, a comical little noise, baring her sharp, dangerous little teeth. “This is why _you_ are the performer and _I_ do the dirty work. People would take me way too seriously on stage, there’d be no salvaging the truth from the wreckage of the act. Anyways. Killbot and Bits are glad to have you and honored to represent you. Where is that sandwich?” she asked, finally addressing Awesome.

“Sourdough’s doing the Zaza bit, making sure his lettuce is ruffled and the frills of his toothpicks aren’t crimped. Let’s get some drinks and get some final items hammered out.”

“Ah, Augie,” Peepers said, hearing Dom snicker a bit, “Would you get me something dark and neat? I’m going to go find my guests and let them know we’re disappearing for a moment.” Awesome nodded and took the ladies with him, keeping himself and his hands in check, oddly enough. Peepers regarded that for a moment, wondering if Lil’s last verbal obliteration of him and warnings of slapping him with a harassment suit finally got through, before fishing out his phone from his clutch to text Hater that they were going to meet in another, quiet room to have a chat about Dom’s new contract with Lil, and that he’d appreciate it if, when Hater came out to join the party he’d find Sylvia and Wander and keep with them for a short bit. The text he got in return simply said, “Got it.”

He was really glad to see that they had run into Lavicia, one of Awesome’s entourage, and he complemented her glowing earrings as he greeted her. She ran a hand through her radiant, gradient hair and pursed her glossed face, and said, “How’s Peepers been? It’s my understanding he’s back in ‘command’ soon.”

“Yes, well,” he said in his accent, as none of the club girls were in on the bit, “he’s still down at the, uh, erotique boutique, but you know, soon, he’ll be out on tour again. Commanding. I see you have met his, uh, sötis. His sweet. Sweetie.”

“His sweetie,” Lavicia said, repeating the foreign word Peepers had used a few times to herself. 

“It sure was a surprise runnin’ into Vee, here,” Wander said, a bottle of water in hand and his own sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt. He explained that they’d gone on a few short dates a while back, having met through Sylvia. This of course was how Awesome had met and started trying to court the Zbornak, unsuccessfully. “Small world, right?”

“This one, surely,” he said, and was very confused to find that confirmed again instantaneously when Wander waved at someone behind him. He looked up at Sylvia, who gave him a knowing smirk before biting into a small pastry.

Peepers turned, and was startled to see that it was Elly.

She stopped mid-step, the large, gruff suited gentleman behind her adjusting his own step to keep from bumping right into her and spilling their drinks, and gave him a weird stare.

“Elly,” Wander said quickly, stepping forward and “Elly, hi! Goodness, fancy meetin’ you here, too, we were all just talkin’ the small world deal, and hey, again! You know Sylvia, and Lavicia, let me introduce you to Silmä. She’s with the big-wigs throwin’ this shingdig tonight, we’re with her.”

Peepers jumped into action, bowing a bit and greeting them decorously. “Nice to meet you. I only came to find you, to let you know I am stepping away for a meeting with the label. Hater should find you shortly,” he said, turning to Wander. “Please stay with him as best as you can and keep him, um, occupied when it comes to conversation.”

“I can do that,” Sylvia offered, taking a moment to crane her neck down to whisper to him after, “ _This_ Elly?”

“ _That_ Elly,” he hissed back.

“So dance, Peepers, dance,” she told him. Flustered, he loudly but politely excused himself from the group and made his way out of the room to go find the others again.


End file.
